


Sick Days

by loracarol



Series: Duck Tales mini fics [3]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, I swear I know how to use Ao3, Sick Fic, Tiny Donald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loracarol/pseuds/loracarol
Summary: Wee Donald is sick. That's it. That's the plot.





	Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know for sure if Donald and Della moving in with Scrooge is 2017 canon or 2017 fanon but meh. It's my fanfic, I do what I want.

Donald  _hated_ getting sick, so of course it was just his luck that he'd come down with a fever. Shivering under the blankets, he wished his mom was around to tuck him in, and bring him juice, but she... She... He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the tears. It had been four months since him and Della had moved in with his Uncle Scrooge. His mom wouldn't be taking care of him anymore. 

Blinking blearily, he tried to grab the cup that Della had left for him before she went to school. She hadn't wanted to, but Uncle Scrooge had insisted that she go, so Donald could rest. She had left a cup of water at his bedside, and promised to bring him a copy of his homework. She also promised to do it, but Donald had a feeling that wouldn't work. 

The cup was empty. He sighed, he _really_ didn't want to get up, but it was his own fault he'd already finished the water off. He didn't think he could stand up without help, so instead he just rolled off the bed, with the intention that he'd then use the bed to stand up. 

...It made sense, at the time. 

Instead of getting up, though, he found himself lying on the floor, still sore, and still not wanting to get up. And also, he was on the floor. At least the blankets had fallen with him. Time ticked on, even as he lost track of it, trying to convince himself to stand up. But moving was  _hard_. 

The door opened behind him, and he heard his uncle say, "curse my kilts, Donald, why are you on the floor?"

"I wanted some water." Donald whispered. 

"Yes, I can see that." His Uncle responded dryly, before picking Donald up off the floor, and putting him back in bed.

Donald peered out of his blanket cocoon and whined, "my throat hurts." 

Scrooge patted him on the head, "I have just the thing for you. Stay here." 

Watching him leave, Donald sighed. He really _did_ hate being sick. 

It was only a short time later that Uncle Scrooge was back, a cup of water in one hand, and a mug in the other. The mug had been a gift from the twins for his birthday; Donald thought it might be the only mug scrooge owned. They had painted it a paint your own mug event. It was utterly garish, but their mother had insisted Uncle Scrooge hold onto it. And he had, though Donald couldn't understand why. It was truly _ugly_. His uncle put the cup down on the side table, and helped Donald get untangled, and sit up, before handing him the mug. "Drink up." 

"What is it?" Donald asked, staring at it dubiously. 

"It's one of your grandmother's old recipes. It'll warm you up, and help you feel better. I used to drink it all the time when I was a boy." 

Donald sighed, and took a drink. It wasn't actually all that bad - though he didn't think it was something he'd drink just for fun. Feeling a little more clearheaded, he looked up at his uncle. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" His voice was still rough, but the warm liquid was doing it's job. 

Sitting down on the bed, Uncle Scrooge winked at him. "That's the nice part about being the boss. Who's going to tell me off?" 

Donald grinned weakly. "Did... Did mom know how to make this?" He asked. 

Uncle Scrooge froze for a brief moment before sighing. "Oh aye, though she might have waited until you were a wee bit older to make it for you." Blinking, Donald looked into the cup again, before shrugging, and taking another sip. His uncle waited until Donald had swallowed before adding, "Gladstone was wondering if he could come by. He wanted to know how you were doing." 

Gladstone. Ugh. "How come Gladstone never gets sick?" Donald muttered. Because, as far as he knew, Gladstone never had. He took another sip of the drink. 

"I couldn't tell you lad." Uncle Scrooge said. 

 "Hmph." Donald said, annoyed at his stupid cousin, and his stupid-never-getting-sick luck. But, he still had his manners, and he knew he owed it to his uncle, after everything. "Thanks, though, my throat is starting to feel better." 

"You're welcome, lad." His uncle said, before taking the cup, and tucking Donald in. 

He was about to leave when Donald said, quietly, "Uncle Scrooge?" 

"Yes?" 

"Could you tell me a story?" There was silence for a moment, and Donald added shakily, "mom used to tell me stories when I was sick, but she's not here." There were _not_ tears coming from his eyes, there _wasn't_.

"Of course Donald." Uncle Scrooge said quietly, sitting on the bed. "How about I tell you a  _secret_ story, one I haven't told anyone else." 

"Not even Gladstone?" 

"Not even Gladstone." 

"Please" Donald mumbled, curling up under the covers, and listening to his uncle speak. He was still sick, but it wasn't as awful as it had been. 

" _Once upon a time, when I was traveling the outbacks of Australia..._ " 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that drink was alcoholic. Bad Scrooge, alcohol isn't good for kids! 
> 
> Also, is there anyone here who can speak actual Scottish-gaelic? I have a translation question. :V 
> 
> Concrit always welcomed!


End file.
